


Type O

by feathertail



Series: Firefighter Spot [2]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Blood, Character Death, Firefighter!Spot, M/M, Seb - Freeform, car crash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 06:47:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12906414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathertail/pseuds/feathertail
Summary: Seb creates a fuss in the back of the car while his father is driving, and Spot, majorly distracted, is badly injured in a crash.Seb is around seven here.





	Type O

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FeralCreed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralCreed/gifts).



> Originally stemmed from a conversation with FeralCreed

When Race and Spot first discovered they were going to be fathers, they did every piece of research they could get their hands on as to keeping their baby as safe as possible. And this was why their son was still in a car seat, not a booster seat, when all of his other friends had migrated to the ‘cooler’ older brother of the protective seats they’d had pretty much since birth. And it was this situation that caused an argument on the way back from school one afternoon.

 

“But I don’t _want_ to have this seat any more!” Seb whined from the back, glaring at his father in the rear view mirror.  
“Seb, we’ve talked about this. We want you to be as safe as possible in case we get in an accident.”  
“But all my friends-”  
“I am _aware_ , Sebastian. However, their parents are not your parents. We want the best for you, do you understand that?”

 

But instead of listening to his father, Seb just started yelling in protest.  
“Seb, stop that, please, you’re making it hard to concentrate.”  
The screaming intensified.  
In a desperate attempt to quiet him, Spot half twisted to glare at him. “Sebastian! Do not-”

 

But he didn’t manage to finish the sentence. With a terrible screech of rending metal and squeal of skidding tyres, the car stopped, bent between two other cars, Spot’s driver door horribly crushed. Spot himself was slumped over the steering wheel, limp, and bleeding.

 

When the fire brigade arrived, Seb was in hysterics, screaming for both his fathers and for people to help him. There were police officers trying to calm him through the broken window, but they couldn’t get him out or reassure him that his dad wasn’t actually dead. The firemen got Race on the line, close with the family as they were, being from Spot’s department.

 

Race picked up rather cheerily, for the sombre situation. “Hey!”  
“Race, get down here?”  
“What? Where?”  
“You know that crash on the news?”  
“Yeah, I’m watching it right now.”  
“That car that looks like yours?”  
“How did you-”  
“It is yours.”  
“ _Fuck_.”  
“Race, better get down here, just in case...”  
But Race had already hung up.

 

The firemen were having no more luck calming Seb’s hysterics than the policemen, but they were working to get him out. Thankfully, that door wasn’t too badly dented, and they managed to get it off and reach in for the screaming child.

 

The instant he was out of his seat, he was running to the car to try and help his father, screaming and crying at the fireman who hauled him back. It took two of them to restrain him as he began to kick as well as scream, desperate to get away and get to his dad. His voice was growing hoarse from all the screaming that he was doing, and all to no effect, and he was getting more and more worked up - this was the first time in his short life that he’d screamed for his parents and neither one had come.

 

The discussion of whether to try to move Spot (eventually reaching the conclusion to wait for paramedics in case he was injured very badly) was interrupted by a slight movement from Spot himself, who had been coming around slowly for the past few minutes, but was in too much pain to string together a sentence. A muffled groan from his father was all it took for Seb to renew his efforts to get to his father, and at Spot’s pained request, he was brought over.

 

The kid was almost on the point of retching he was screaming and crying so much, but he hiccupped into terrified silence at the sight of the blood dripping down his father’s face, clutching at the fireman who was carrying him.   
“Hey, baby,” Spot croaked, and Seb let out a little wail.  
“Hey, shh,” he soothed, unable to reassure his son in the typical manner. “I’mma be okay. Go with my friends, they’s’ll take care ‘f yous ‘til Daddy gets here. ‘S okay, baby.”

 

Apparently he wasn’t soothing enough, because Seb surged into fresh wails of distress, flailing in the arms of the fireman holding him. His companion leaned close as Spot whispered something, and paled a little at the “Get Race here,” he heard. That couldn’t be good.

 

And indeed it wasn’t. Spot could feel blood dripping from multiple places, the pain was excruciating, and the only thing holding him together was the crushed metal and other bits of car around him, keeping him in place. He closed his eyes, trying to preserve his strength. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on for.

 

Then there was a huge commotion from the crowd gathered around the police cordon, screaming and shouting. Seb stilled for a moment, then proceeded to scream and wail all over again, but this time in Italian, and trying to get towards the commotion, not the car.

 

Race’s screams of “That’s my son, let me through! That’s my family!” travelled easily, and he was eventually let through, and Seb staggered over to him, hyperventilating and babbling in Italian through his tears. Race checked he was unhurt, then passed him to one of the firefighters, promising his son he’d be back, then pelted over to the car wreck.

 

He skidded to a stop by the wreck, and choked out a sob. “Spot-”  
Spot weakly blinked open his eyes. “Hey,” he rasped.  
“Hey,” Race smiled through his pain. “Look, it’s okay, they’re going to get you out, you’re going to be okay-”  
Spot interrupted him softly. “I love you.”  
“Yeah, I love you too, but- Spot? _Spot_!” Race panicked as his husband stilled, screaming out for help.

 

He got an armful of son as the crowds parted to let paramedics through, and cradled him, sobbing. “It’s not your fault, baby, it’s okay. Papa’s gonna be okay.” Seb just continued to wail as he and his father were pushed out of the way so the paramedics could get to Spot. There was obvious hasty discussion on whether they should attempt resuscitation, and Race lost his temper, shouting unrepeatable things in Italian before switching back to English, hugging his son through his tears.  
“I can’t do this stupid fucking life without my stupid fucking husband and I love him and just _fucking save him, please!_ ”

 

The paramedics surged into action, working to resuscitate Spot and keep him stable while working with the firemen to free him. One paramedic hurried over to get what medical details she could extract from Race when he wasn’t trying to calm his again-screaming son. Thankfully, Spot had made them all memorise emergency details, even Seb, just in case.

 

Movement at the wreck caught Race’s attention, and he sobbed in relief as he saw them fit an oxygen mask over his husband’s face, embracing his son, who had thankfully begun to quiet, adrenaline finally fading and his eyes, itching with salt, began to drift closed as he relaxed in his father’s arms.   
“Please, can we come with him in the ambulance? Seb’ll be quiet, I promise,” he begged, almost crumpling to the ground as the paramedic agreed.

 

He took a seat out of the way, watching the progress of his husband with worry embedded in every line of his body. They were talking about blood-  
“I’m Type O,” he offered, yanking up his sleeve and holding out his arm. “Universal donor, right? Please, take it. I can’t lose him.”  
They must have been very desperate, because they agreed, hooking him up to Spot, and Race hid his tears in his sleeping son’s shoulder, offering up prayers to every divinity he knew of that his husband might live.

 

They were left in the waiting room at the hospital, as Spot was rushed straight into surgery, and the only hope that Race now possessed was that the nurse said him giving his blood had quite possibly saved him on the way over.

 

Race didn’t know how long they waited for, he dozed fitfully, holding his son close. Seb had woken up a few hours in, but didn’t make a sound, or move, just let himself be held by his father, eyes open but not taking in any detail, or responding to anything.

 

At last, they heard, and Race wept with relief at the good news that they could see him, expressing his emotions as such to his son, who didn’t respond, but kept his face hidden in his father’s shoulder. Still, Race carried him through to Spot’s room and sat in the bedside chair with him, taking his husband’s hand and waiting with baited breath to wake up.

 

And wake up he did, and they both wept with the news that he was expected to make a full recovery, mostly thanks to Race’s insistence they save him, and his blood donation.

**Author's Note:**

> Be gratefuly you got the ending you did - if it hadn't been for Feral, Spot may have died <3


End file.
